


Run Away, Cast Away (Two Brothers)

by orange_8_hands



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Things, Alcohol, Gen, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pre-Series, Stanford Era, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:51:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam goes to college; at least this time Dean saw him run away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Away, Cast Away (Two Brothers)

**Author's Note:**

> This started with writing section 1 to explain how canon has Sam in s-2 saying “you’re the one who said if I walk out that door don’t come back” (John doesn't come across as a metaphorical guy, it was a real door) and s-5 with Dean recognizing the middle of nowhere road as "this is the night you ditched us for Stanford.”
> 
> Originally posted on [my LJ](http://orange-8-hands.livejournal.com/1349.html), Dec 2011.
> 
> TW: For sexist and ableist language, drunk driving, implied sexual relations to take place while both parties are drunk.

I.

He’s not sure why Sam got into their Dad’s car instead of his. Maybe he was planning it all along, tell Dad when Dean couldn’t step in, couldn’t punch him or kick him silent, drag him away before the next words left his mouth. Maybe he didn’t think about it – Sam thinks about everything, but that sounds better, Dean likes that story better – and just got in the car. Whatever. Dean doesn’t know, never knows because he’ll never ask. But Sam gets in their dad’s car, and Dean’s following along in his baby, playing the music at the proper volume since he doesn’t have Sam slumping next to him complaining he’s trying to study or sleep or commune with his inner girl, when the truck fishtails to the side.  
   
Dean yanks hard and slams on the brakes but he’s still a number of yards away, even he admits his baby isn’t good about stopping on a dime. He has his gun in his hand as he’s running to the truck, but both of them are slamming out of the truck, screaming at each other, and Dean puts his gun away because he’s going to need both hands to keep them from killing each other.  
   
“You’re so goddamn selfish,” Dad says, and Sam is laughing his I-hate-you laugh and shouting back “Learned it from you” and then Dean is there, clasping a hand to Sam’s shoulder and holding another up to his Dad. He knows better than to ask what this fight is about, but then again they only have three or four major ones, and really all of them are playing the same theme.  
   
“Ok, ok,” Dean says, like he can sooth savage beasts with such a simple, lying word. He pushes Sam to the Impala, who goes somewhat willingly, shaking his shaggy head – Jesus, he needs a haircut – and trembling.  
   
“Come on, Dad,” he says, which doesn’t work, has never worked, but what else is he supposed to say to the man, to get him to just fucking lay off when Sammy gets worked up like this?  
   
“Why don’t you tell your brother what you’re goddamn planning,” Dad says, and Sam _flinches_. Fuck fuck fuck.       
   
“Don’t,” Dean says, like that can stop the words from coming, from being spoken and being real.  
   
“He’s going to college,” Dad says, and Dean did not make that gut shot sound, he didn’t.  
   
“Most dads would be proud,” Sam yells, but he doesn’t look at Dean and he goes to the Impala.  
   
Dean stays still, just a second, he’s not recovering, just making sure Dad gets back in the truck, who does, after shaking his head like Dean’s the stupid one. He gets back into the Impala and Sam is slumped over and he wants to say something, of course the geek wants to go to college, no surprise, but it is a surprise, talking and doing are two different things and Dean didn’t really think…he wants to say something but he _can’t_.  
   
They drive and Sam gets more and more wired, he can see it, but he can’t fucking say anything, so by the time they get to the motel Sam is back to his pissed off state, and no way did Dad calm down, so the conversation Dean interrupted just an hour ago gets started again, giving him a first seat view of his worse hell.  
   
It’s not a surprise, Dean has to keep telling himself that, because Sam had been complaining about this life since before he knew what exactly this life entailed, and Sam was smart, everyone knew how smart Sam was, and Sam wanted normal like junkies wanted heroin, so put it together and it really only spells one course, one choice. Sam was going to college, Sam was joining the rat race, Sam was –  
   
“You walk out that door, you don’t ever come back,” Dad says  
   
                         - leaving and shit fuck those can’t be the last words, Dean needs to say something, he really does, but he can’t fucking talk, always trusted his mouth to get him out of trouble and he can’t fucking talk.  
   
Dad slams out one way and Sam slams out another and Dean follows his brother because it’s bred into his bones, its muscle memory carrying him through the door, and Dean points with his thumb to the Impala because seriously Sammy, how you gonna get to college with your one fucking duffle bag – already packed, Dean does not notice, can’t notice – and the nearest bus miles away.  
   
Dean drives him to the bus station, Sam sitting back straight, anger getting him through, and neither say a word. He gets out with Sam, moving so slow, like after that ghost in Tennessee threw him off the second floor of the goddamn house, and he ain’t old but suddenly he feels ancient.  
   
“Dean,” Sam finally says, looking at him, and Jesus he’s young, his brother is a fucking baby, how the hell is he going to take care of himself where Dean can’t get to him in time, can’t make sure no ghosts are fucking sneaking up behind him. “I don’t – I didn’t – I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”  
   
His brother is stupid, too fucking stupid, like there’s a right way to find out, like Sam could have _eased_ him into it. But he swallows everything because his dad’s words are still ringing in his head, probably still ringing in Sammy’s, and he feels like one wrong word and he’ll never see his brother again.  
   
“You have some money?” Dean asks, because he sure as shit isn’t sharing and caring all his real thoughts.  
   
“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I’ve been saving up. In a few weeks my grants and scholarship kick in, and I have an interview for a job in another week.”  
   
“Which college?” Dean asks, because he realizes he doesn’t know - how the fuck long were you planning this Sammy? - and he should know where his baby brother is going to study and be apple pie normal.    
   
“Stanford,” Sam says, and Dean recognizes his face, his I’m-proud-of-myself-and-if-you-were-normal-you-would-be-too face.

   
“California girls are hot,” Dean says, because its expected, its normal, its _their_ normal and why the fuck isn’t that enough?  
   
“Yes, Dean, I got into one of the most prestigious schools so I can look at girls,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, and that’s okay, that’s better than him mad, Dean can deal with Sam’s exasperation, he’s been living with it since Sam was ten and discovered the joys of rolling his eyes, which probably still comes before masturbation in favorite hobby ever, the fucking geek.  
   
Dean’s phone rings and he flinches, and Sam gets tight all over. They both know who it is, and they both know Dean will answer.  
   
“It’s fine, man, the bus to California leaves at 6am today, I can sleep in the station till then.”  
   
Dean doesn’t know if that means Sam memorized the schedule for this specific day because he knew he’d need it, or if Sam just memorized the schedule for the week so he’d be prepared whichever day it fell on. Dean’s adding that to the ever growing list of questions Dean will never fucking ask his brother.  
   
“I-“ Dean starts, but can’t even wrap his mind around how to finish that sentence.  
   
Sam is a giant girl, but luckily Dean raised him right and so he just nods and then clasps Dean to him, lets go quick before Dean can even get his arms up, and starts to walk into the station, and Dean doesn’t even deserve one last look?  
   
“Hey Sammy,” he says, because maybe he wants to see his brother’s face one more time.  
   
Sam turns and gives this small wave like when Dean walked him to his first day of kindergarten in Missouri (and the first day in Texas, and the first day in Nebraska). It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but Dean shrugs like he did before and Sam smiles and goes into the station and apparently that’s how it ends.   
   
Dean stands there for a long time, phone still ringing off and on, brother long gone, because his world just cracked and shook and took off to fucking California, and Dean’s just starting to feel the damage.   

 

  


II.

A heart breaks like a heart breaks, like it is fragile, like it is one inch off the ground from the longest fall and coming down fast, like it was just waiting for him to turn his back and walk out that door. You want to call him back because reaching for him is easier than breathing, he was placed into your arms that first time but since then it's been a million miles of road and his warm body within easy access, headlocks, grappling, noogies, stitched skin and surfacing anger you could never keep from exploding out. As much as you love him you don't understand him, as much as you claim him he is not yours and never has been, not like you are his. (Just because you can reach for him does not mean he will let himself be grabbed.) He walks out the door and you know you have been forever cracked and damaged, and you will never have enough plaster to fix all the leaky holes.

There is pride, and there is guilt, and worry, and anger, and you look in motel bathroom mirrors as your cocky grin slides onto your face, a grin that let's you slide into girl's bodies and out of your head, you grin and you can do anything, you can talk your way around cops and witnesses and creatures and victims, and if you never meant your smile until you close your baby's trunk and finally see him standing there, he's back, _he's back_ , then that's just one more secret you can swallow. (You have so many, lying inside you like trip mines for him to stumble over.)

You have lived your whole life for your brother, and if meeting Jessica helped take him that last intolerable inch away, her death gave him back to you, maybe broken but you have always been able to fix broken things, your hands have held together cars and guns and bones, and when you use them to dig a shallow grave where one road intersects another, you kiss a smirking demon and do not think about your father's voice, your father asking you for a promise (you never gave it) everybody should have realized you could never keep it. Blonde women you never got a chance to really know have given you Sammy, burning on ceilings with mouths twisted in horror, and your brother is thrust into your care like you know how, and maybe you screw up but you do, you did something right, you cared, at the very least. But that is only the first time, that is only once, and round two is not the same verse as the first, round two is watching something splinter you thought you built strong. He was angry at your father and now he is angry like your father, and you know exactly what that means, you had a first hand seat for your dad and now you have one for your brother, and you have never been strong enough to do anything but encourage them. You were supposed to fix him and instead you broke him, you were supposed to watch him and instead he ran (he always fucking runs), and you're not sure how it is that the people you try the hardest to hold on to manage to slip out of your fists like water, like air, like oil leaving stains of _not good enough_ behind. 

It's not that you deserve hell (you think, you're almost sure), it's that watching him leave for Stanford was not the worse thing, as much as you thought at the time of unanswered phone calls and midnight drive-bys you never fully stopped for were bad it's not the worst thing, and you have an unreasonable belief that keeping him alive is enough of an apology for letting him break in the first place.

You're not sure, but then you weren't the smart one anyway.

 

  


III.  
   
hey, hey, Sammy, I can drive, I’m fine, and I get behind my baby and I drive to the motel and I make it inside, just fine, hey Sammy hey, just fine, I’m just fucking fine, and I even stumble – didn’t stumble, I’m fucking smooth, I’m glass, I’m whiskey, I’m top shelf – and make it to the bathroom, maybe use the wall for a little support but man, shoes are tricky, laces are tricky, laces, you remember the fucking bunny being looped, you weren’t always smart it took you fucking forever, thought we we’re gonna be stuck doing Velcro when you’re twenty, man you started making that bitch face when you were five, such a bitch, hey this chick laid fucking tracks, look at this, you wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a chick like this, like I taught you fucking nothing, you never fucking paid any attention you fucking geek and jus- fuck man, what the fuck is wrong with the showers in this town like I want shriveled balls man I’m fucking tired this bed is hard as a rock Sammy, fuck you like you can hold your liquor you have a two sip limit you fucking dork stuck with such a giant nerd for a brother you’re the bane of my fucking life you fucking traitor I can’t believe you fucking walked out fuck you fuck you fuck y-

 

  


IV.  
   
“He just…wait, Dad?”  
   
“I’ll be back in a few weeks Dean. Take the Impala.”

 

  


V.  
   
She’s got her hand crawling up his thigh and he’s driving fast and his mouth still tastes like whiskey, from her or from him, but he knows that back like he knows how to salt bones and pull triggers, backpack over it be damned, like the kid wouldn’t live with his schoolwork strapped to him twenty-four/seven if he let him, so he pulls over and leaves Amy I’m-Gonna-Ride-You-Hard in the car and makes it over to his brother, already running his mouth (she bit his fucking ear when she said that, he doesn’t have time for Sammy in a snit fit), asking, “What the fuck are you doing in the middle of the road? Man I thought you couldn’t come out because you had to curl your hair or study or some shit, what the fuck Samm-“ and then he sees his brother and stops.  
   
“What-“ he stutters, because he knows Sam, ok, he knows every thousand and one bitch face Sam can do, and knows how to make most of them appear too, his brother has a button for every fucking one of them, but he’s never seen this one before, Sam burns like Dad when he’s angry, gets loud, gets in your face, and this is cold, this is winter ice, this is scary fucking anger.  
   
“He told me to get out. So I got out.” Sam barely pauses to look at him, just keeps walking, hands in fists so tight he’s gonna break his fucking bones.  
   
“Look, he just –“  
   
“I’m going to college, Dean,” Sam says, finally stopping, looking at him, and what, college, what the fuck does that mean?  
   
“Sammy,” Dean starts, and Sam turns to him and fucking growls, “Sam. I’m Sam, and I’m going to college, and if he wants to cut ties then fine, fuck him, fuck him, and fuck you too if you think –“  
   
“Sam, I don’t…“  
   
Sam shakes his head as Dean trails off. “I’m going to fucking Stanford if I have to fucking walk there.”  
   
“Stanford’s in California,” Dean says, and Sam gives him a look of such loathing he flinches.  
   
“I know where Stanford is,” Sam says, a little exasperation leaking through his anger, his _my brother is so fucking dumb_ voice, _my brother doesn’t get normal and school and how fucked up Dad is_ voice, Dean _hates_ that voice, maybe he’s not smart but he gets reality just fucking fine and Sam never did, they’re fucking saving lives.  
   
“I’ll drive you,” Dean says without thinking about it, like he would just hand his fucking brother over to a fucking college, did he even have weapons in his backpack and what the fuck is Sam _thinking_?   
   
Sam laughs his mocking laugh. “I’m not going back to Dad, Dean, God, you never listen I said-“  
   
“I’ll fucking drive you to the bus station,” Dean says, and moves back to the car. Amy I’m-Gonna-Ride-You-Hard (Christ, was this the same fucking night?) isn’t so drunk she can’t read the mood, and she freezes when Dean slams back into the car.  
   
“I got to drive my brother to the bus station, five minute detour, okay?” Dean says to her, and then shouts through the open window to Sam, “Get in the fucking car.”  
   
Sam gets into his seat – the backseat, it’s just the fucking backseat now – and nobody says a fucking word, nobody says anything at all, and it’s the quietest Dean’s ever been in his goddamn fucked up life.


End file.
